


The Greatest Show on Earth: Rerun

by grimm



Series: The Devil's in the Details [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Demon!Stiles, M/M, POV Derek, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 15:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimm/pseuds/grimm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's losing pieces of time. There's blood on his sheets and in his mouth. There are bruises on his skin and voices in his head and Stiles is pretty sure he's going crazy.</p><p>-</p><p>Stiles' possession from Derek's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Greatest Show on Earth: Rerun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [2amsugarrush (oldmanrenkas)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=2amsugarrush+%28oldmanrenkas%29).



> Long promised, it's finally here, the explicit side of the story. 
> 
> Non con issues lie in the fact that Stiles cannot give consent, as he is possessed. Unaware that it's happening, but it's still happening nonetheless.

Stiles is changing and it takes Derek a while to notice. When he does, it's in fits and spurts because sometimes he seems the way he's always been and sometimes he's…different. There's something in the way he holds himself, his shoulders straighter, a faint grin playing around the corners of his mouth like he's got a joke he's dying to tell. His newfound confidence pulls at Derek in a way it shouldn't.

Derek knows Stiles is attracted to him. He's too young to know how to control himself and sometimes the smell of lust rolling off him is so strong that Derek has to leave, has to find somewhere where he can jerk off to the thought of Stiles heaving underneath him. He wants Stiles, has wanted him since the day Derek first saw him and Scott in the woods and smelled the salty, boyish smell of him, of cheap aftershave and laundry detergent and spunk. But though Derek is a monster, he is trying his best to be human and good, and he doesn't touch Stiles because he does not want to be arrested (again). He's a predator, but not like _that._

Sometimes Stiles looks scared. He stares at his hands like he's never seen them before and he reeks of nervousness and unease. Derek asks Scott, privately, if Stiles is all right, and Scott stares at him like he's some sort of new alien life form (which is unfair; Stiles is part of his pack and Derek has the right to be concerned about him). Eventually Scott shrugs and says that Stiles hasn't been sleeping well, which seems to be about right, judging by the deep circles under his amber eyes. Derek doesn't go home and get himself off to the thought of Stiles on his knees, those whiskey-colored eyes staring up at him through dark lashes. He doesn't.

Things are happening in the woods and it unsettles him. There are animals torn to pieces amongst the trees, blood spread across the ground, and the scenes smell familiar but not. He can't put his finger on it, and it worries him.

He holds a pack meeting one night and at the end, when everyone rises to head to their cars, Stiles is slow to move. He dawdles like he wants to say something to Derek. Derek watches him expressionlessly, though his heart pounds in his chest and he's suddenly glad Stiles isn't a werewolf, can't smell his agitation. He watches Stiles open his mouth, shut it, turn toward the door, then suddenly he's turning again, that faint, confident smile lifting the corners of his lips, and he steps into Derek's space. Derek doesn't move, just stares at Stiles as he lifts a hand, brushes his fingertips along the line of his jaw, and presses his lips to Derek's.

It shouldn't happen, but it does. Derek has behaved himself for a long time and here he is now, in this moment, and he didn't even have to make the first move. That's an invitation if he's ever seen one. The kiss starts slow, careful, but the heat of Stiles' mouth pulls at him like a moth to the flame and he's faintly surprised at the strength of the boy, at the way his fingers clutch at his shoulders, at the bold way his mouth opens and his teeth catch against Derek's lips. His fingernails dig into Derek's skin and his touch seems to say _I'm not going to break._

Derek startles himself by groaning into Stiles' mouth and the boy laughs softly, slipping his arms around Derek's chests to press long, strong fingers against his vertebrae. "C'mon," Stiles murmurs into his ear, and his voice is unlike Derek's ever heard it. It's deep and jarring and rattles Derek to the core, ignites a fire in his bones. "I'm not a fucking flower."

It's a challenge, an invitation, and Derek growls, a low rumble deep in his chest. He shoves Stiles back against the wall of the entrance hall, rucks up his shirt so he can paw at his soft skin, bites at his lips until they're swollen and red. Stiles makes an approving noise and wraps his skinny legs around Derek's waist, letting the wall support him. The noise he makes when Derek bites at his throat is exquisite, one that Derek will play over and over in his head later while he lays on his mattress on the floor and fucks into his hand. Derek sucks a bruise into his collarbone and keeps pressing his fingers to it even as the mark turns purple.

Later, Derek will worry about how easy it was to lose himself in this boy, how quickly he gave up his pretense of chivalry when an invitation was offered to him. He will worry about how good the boy smelled, of copper and electricity, how salty his skin was under Derek's tongue. He'll worry about how quickly they went from kissing to Stiles' hand around their cocks, and how sure Stiles was of himself, despite the fact that Derek had it on good authority that Stiles hadn't so much as ever kissed anyone before.

But that will be later. Now, Derek tilts his head back and comes with a rough cry seconds after Stiles, and Stiles lifts his hand to his mouth and licks the spunk from his fingers, his eyes focused on Derek the entire time. He slips out of Derek's grip, hitches his pants back up around his hips, and disappears out the front door with a wave. Derek listens to him drive off, open-mouthed and panting and tells himself it won't happen again.

It does, of course.

Stiles hangs back at the end of every pack meeting after that, smug and happy and assertive. Derek tries, for Stiles' sake, to take things slow, but Stiles seems absolutely uninterested in the snail's pace Derek tries to set. Derek's daydream of Stiles on his knees is realized the second time he stays behind and it's even better than Derek fantasized - there is no imagination in the world great enough to truly visualize the image of Stiles' mouth stretched around his cock, or the feeling of his tongue swiping over the head of his dick. He doesn't mean to come on Stiles' face but he does and Stiles just takes it, opening his mouth to catch Derek's seed.

They fuck the third time. Stiles kneels on Derek's lumpy mattress and keens when Derek works him open with two blunt fingers. Derek's panting and unraveling rapidly by the time he pushes inside Stiles, red clawing at his vision, the wolf in his head howling for liberation. Stiles encourages him with his mouth hanging open and his hands fisted in the sheets. He's more vocal than Derek thought he'd be, and the words coming out of his mouth are filthy, obscene, nothing that he'd ever expected to come out of Stiles' mouth, just a lewd stream of consciousness that has Derek's dick throbbing.

" - fuck, fuck, your fucking _cock,_ harder, harder, fucking split me open, _fuck - "_

Derek shoves Stiles' shoulders to the mattress, fucks into him harshly, his hands burning at Stiles' waist. He can feel his claws sinking into Stiles' skin and Stiles moans at the pain, lust spiking off his skin. Stiles is already marked with bruises and red lines from Derek's claws and Derek eyes them proudly, thinks _Mine._

It becomes a thing they do. Stiles hangs around after pack meetings or shows up after school. Sometimes Derek goes to Stiles' house after dark and comes through the window where Stiles is always waiting, loose-limbed as he lounges in bed and looks at Derek in a way that makes him want to crawl out of his skin and inside Stiles (so he does). He doesn't let the way Stiles fucks like a champion worry him - some people are fast learners, he thinks - and he doesn't let the way he's starting to smell like Stiles bother him either, even if the rest of the pack is starting to notice. It finally feels like there's something good in his life, and he's not going to let it slip out of his fingers.

He has to lift his head when the odd events of the woods bleed into the human world. It's not just animals any more - a woman is torn apart in her home. Derek breaks into her house after the police leave and stands in her bedroom. He stares at the blood sprayed across the walls. It's not something a rogue werewolf would do, and he's not sure it's something a mountain lion would do either. He's never seen anything like it.

Derek holds a pack meeting that night to discuss the killing. Stiles is quiet throughout, unusual for him. He's watching his hands again like he's afraid they're about to take on a life of their own and he won't meet Derek's eyes. He doesn't stick around after the meeting like he usually does, but heads out to his car with everyone else. Derek follows him, slightly concerned by his unease, and slips his arms around his waist, halting his attempts to get his car door open by leaning his long body against Stiles'.

"What's wrong?" Derek murmurs, slipping his hand under the edge of Sties' shirt, seeking the reassuring warmth of his skin. But Stiles - Stiles isn't responding the way he usually does. He's frozen and he smells like fear and his heart is beating faster than a rabbit's. Derek pulls away from him, unease welling inside him, and asks again, "What's wrong?"

He can smell the salt tears in Stiles' eyes and the fear Derek smells hurts him like a knife to the heart. Stiles whispers, "Why did you do that?"

"I thought we - " Derek swallows, fights the panic rising in his chest. Stiles is acting like they've never touched before. He swallows again and covers the hurt with anger. "You know what? Never mind."

He turns, leaving Stiles standing by his car, and he's just gone through the front door when realization hits him. Stiles' change, his growing confidence, the way he seems to know exactly what he's doing in bed. The way he looks frightened sometimes, like he doesn't know where he is or how he got there. The way he watches his hands like he's lost control of them. The way he smells like copper. The way he smells like _blood._

Derek stumbles out onto the back porch and vomits onto the grass. There's something _wrong_ with Stiles, has been for _months,_ and he was too busy being fucking greedy - greedily fucking - that he was willing to overlook the fact that a member of his pack was sick, ruined, _taken._ He _ruined_ a seventeen-year-old boy because he ignored all the warning signs and wanted a mouth on his cock. His stomach heaves again and he throws up again.

When he can think straight, he calls Deaton and everyone but Stiles. They're furious at him but he lets them have their anger, feeds it into his own. Deaton tells them what to do and they spend all night preparing. When the sun rises he heads to the Stilinski house and gets there in time to see the sheriff scrambling into his squad car and peeling off down the block. Derek can smell Stiles/Not-Stiles in the air and takes off around the house, following his scent into the woods. Now that he knows to look, it's not Stiles' scent; it's what he's been smelling in the woods for months and it makes his skin crawl.

He catches up to it running through the trees and it's sobbing. He thinks it's Stiles in control now but he can't chance it so he tackles the boy to the ground and feels him go still as Derek hauls him to his feet, arms cinched tight around his waist.

"What's _wrong_ with me?" Stiles moans, and that desperation - that's Stiles, and it turns Derek's stomach.

"You're not you," he replies grimly.

Derek _feels_ the shift when the thing inside Stiles takes over and he shudders when it starts to laugh, high and mocking. It makes him want to peel his skin off, like a thousand hot baths will never get him clean again. It mocks him the whole way to the house, laughs at how pliable his mind was, how happy Derek was to take the innocence of a teenager. It preens and purrs, tells Derek how good his cock tasted, how it loved swallowing his come, how it relished being shoved to the mattress and rammed into, over and over and over. The scream it makes when Lydia exorcises it turns Derek's stomach but fills him with a nasty sort of satisfaction that dissipates the moment Stiles comes back into himself. Derek sees the moment Stiles realizes what's happened, his face going pale.

Derek forces himself to keep watching even though it's tearing him apart inside. He watches the rest of the pack leave, and he watches Stiles lean forward and rub his hands over his face. Derek forces himself to move forward and he opens his mouth, trying to find the _I'm sorry_ he desperately needs to say. The words die in his throat when Stiles looks up at him, his pale face drawn and miserable. Stiles is sorry - sorry for _Derek,_ and that's wrong, that's so wrong, and he - Stiles is standing up, wrapping his arms around Derek. Derek stiffens, listening to Stiles' heart hammer inside his ribs and then he lifts his arms, holding him so tight he feels the boy's bones creak.

 _It's not over,_ Derek thinks to himself. _We're just beginning._


End file.
